


Greasy Git

by TW Lewis (gardendoor)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-05
Updated: 2005-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardendoor/pseuds/TW%20Lewis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape washes his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greasy Git

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: Severus belongs to JK Rowling. I promise to return him unscathed.

At four-fifteen in the morning, Severus crept out of bed and silently gathered his supplies before slipping out of the common room through the portrait and heading for his destination. He only dared do this before dawn, when everyone else was asleep. He couldn't risk anyone seeing this.

Once he reached the prefects bathroom, he slipped around to the back of the bathing pool, where he could see any intruders before they caught sight of him. Then he slipped off his robes and warily stepped into the water, sliding in up to his neck.

The silky, wet warmth felt achingly good on his filthy skin, and he couldn't help a small groan of pleasure as he scrubbed off a week's-worth of accumulated grime. He could feel his shoulders loosening, his spine stretching, as he stopped cringing from the feel of his own skin. Finally, when the need became unbearable, he plunged completely under the water, scouring his face and neck and ears, then reached blindly for the ledge where his shampoo and conditioner rested.

First, the shampoo. The stiff, greasy tangles swallowed a full handful to no good effect, so he grimly slathered on more until the reluctant mass gave way and lathered up. Once he could feel the tiny, chamomile-and-valerian-scented bubbles crackling wonderfully all over his head, he plunged under the water again, holding his breath as he rinsed it all out. Then the conditioner, plenty of that, too, working it through patiently, strand by strand, until his fingers slid through from root to tip without tangles interrupting. It took longer to rinse that out, and his lungs were cramping in a good way by the time he finally declared himself satisfied and sat up again. Then more shampoo, and more conditioner, until the feel of his hair under his hands was sheer heaven.

He stood up and fetched a towel, dried himself off, and then went to the sinks and mirrors along the side wall. He murmured a small drying charm as he combed out his shoulder-length locks, then reached for his robes, dressed, and faced the mirror once more with a long, approving stare at the dark young man who stared back.

Framed by those lush, blue-black waves, his eyes seemed penetrating, charismatic. His lips were lush, and the Roman nose he had inherited from his grandmother and great-grandfather made him look like a powerful, dangerous god come down to Earth for a reckoning. This was a face that merited respect. This was a mouth someone would long to kiss. These were eyes one would want smiling in friendship, not glowering in cruel disapproval. Severus looked in the mirror and drank his fill of this powerful, private creature that lived inside his skin.

He could hear the sounds of the castle stirring. It wouldn't be long now before his privacy was invaded. With a sigh of resignation, Severus dipped his fingers into the pot of ointment he had brought and worked a thin film of sour grease into his scalp. His hair turned dull and lank once more, and he could feel his shoulders stooping as his flesh cringed away from the disgusting mess that clung to the back of his neck. Now his lips looked pouting and whiny, his nose seemed beaklike, his eyes held only sullen awareness of his low state.

School would not last forever, he promised himself. Someday, when he was away from Lucius' dangerous gaze and his pointed comments about 'forgetting your place' and 'trying to outshine your betters,' Severus would wash away the grease and filth for the last time and be the man he knew he could be underneath. Someday, soon, he could stop cringing in the shadows and stand up tall and proud and clean. Just one more year.

End.


End file.
